


Friendship Is Nice. Friendship and Lingerie Is Nicer.

by goddesswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 23:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddesswan/pseuds/goddesswan
Summary: Emma gets some new lingerie and, intending to get approval from her friends, accidentally sends some revealing pictures to the wrong group chat. Smut ensues.





	

Emma Swan has not owned a decent set of lingerie in far too long. It's not as if she's had anyone to wear it around, has had any need for it. The thought of needing an upgrade to her sexy wardrobe isn't something her friends have needled her about in a while and therefore, hasn't crossed her mind.

She's just gotten her income tax money and seeing as she's finally in a financially stable enough place in her life to not need to spend the money on bills, she takes a slightly reluctant but much-needed trip to the nearest mall. Too many unstylishly ripped jeans and torn t-shirts have been piling up in her wardrobe and, really, her lack of anything that ranges outside the bounds of leather and simple cotton is kind of sad.

She's made a decent dent in her wallet—a couple of sheer shirts (who knew sheer was so in), a floral dress, a little black dress Ruby will whole-heartedly approve of, a nice green jacket that is decidedly not leather, and even a pencil skirt—when she passes the Victoria's Secret.

* * *

 

Victoria's Secret is a store she's been in a total of three times: once when she was a teenager, absent-mindedly perusing the racks while her short time friend Lily shoved underwear into her duffle bag, and twice when Ruby had dragged her along as someone to make commentary as she tried things on (modeled is a more accurate term.) The store was entirely too expensive for her taste. Not having a bust size outside the range of typical department store sizing, she found it easy to find perfectly acceptable undergarments in places decidedly cheaper. She was more of a Walmart bra shopper, maybe Target if she was feeling a little more free with her cash.

But when she walks by the window she can't help but notice a mannequin wearing some sort of one-piece swimsuit shaped item that appeared to be made of crochet lace. Lace is a staple amongst lingerie; she knows that, but _crochet_? _Is that what passes for stylish lingerie now?_

Her curiosity gets the better of her and suddenly she's standing next to the entrance display, examining the items presented. Upon closer inspection, she learns that it's scalloped lace, not crochet. Doesn't seem like much of a difference to her but what does she know? One thing's for sure; it's not what she's used to seeing.

She's about to leave, her inquiring mind satisfied, when she see's the _7 for $27 underwear_ sign.

"Huh," she huffs aloud. 7 for $27 (after opening her phone's calculator app) averages out to about 4 dollars a piece. Not too bad. She's got all this money burning a hole in her pocket, so maybe she could splurge a little on some fancy underwear. You only live once.

After she's picked out the underwear she likes best and, as kindly as possible, waved off two different workers, she heads deeper into the store to find the cashiers.

Shopping is normally so simple for Emma Swan—get in, find something comfortable, avoid overly expensive items, and get out. But today has not been a regular shopping day and, as luck would have it, her interest is once again piqued by a mannequin.

This time the outfit is something she's more familiar with, a bustier set. A very pretty bustier set. It's entirely red with the exception of the tan cups. Lace covers a majority of the cups, breaking off into a small keyhole directly below the split of the breast, and narrowing into a wide strip down the front and lined with boning, leaving the siding as simple mesh. It's got attachable garters following the path of the boning and a matching tan and lace, v-string panty. It's more elaborate than anything she's ever owned and she decides, on the spot, she wants it.

She finds the corresponding color in her size and also a simple black, satin and lace, babydoll slip that looks comfortable enough to actually want to sleep in, and heads for the fitting room. One of the attendants from before lets her in and she settles her bags on the chair, rests the garments on top of them and begins undressing.

The babydoll goes on first. It's easy to slip into and less daunting than the other option. Immediately, she falls in love with the feel of it against her skin and now she understands why people spend money here. Luxury is heavenly.

She switches out the definite new addition to her underwear drawer for the bustier. Thankfully, it zips down the side and doesn't have any complicated hooks on the back. Because, no matter how good it looks on her, she's not spending money on something that will make her twist and sweat getting in and out of.

Once the outfit is yanked around a little and settled into place, she looks in the mirror.

Damn, she looks _good_.

She pulls her phone out of her jacket and snaps a couple pictures in the mirror, one from the front and one from the back. The lighting is kind of shitty but it does the job and she still looks pretty damn good so she opens up the group chat between Mary Margaret, Ruby, Elsa, Belle and herself and sends the pics with the text i _walked into the hell store and actually found multiple things i really like and knew you guys would need photographic proof so here._

She leaves the store, having spent over $100 dollars and feeling both happy and slightly nauseous.

**Ruby:** _i'm actually drooling you look so hot!!!!_

Unsurprisingly, Ruby, her phone surgically attached to her hand, is the first to respond and with fire emojis.

**Mary Margaret:** _Emma, you look lovely! I see those bags in the background. I'm glad you're treating yourself, you deserve it!_

She loves her friends so much and she's feeling great as she leaves the mall, enough new clothes to last her a while and an Auntie Anne's cinnamon pretzel sitting comfortably in her stomach. That great feeling lasts all the way to her car until she sits down and checks her phone a final time before driving back to her apartment.

**Elsa:** _You look stunning, Emma. But did you mean to send those photos in this chat?_

She's slightly confused. Does Elsa find it weird that she would share those pictures with her friends? It can't be. That kind of photo swapping isn't unusual between them. Hell, they've had enough photos sent by Ruby, asking "How do I look?" to rival Kim K's selfie book. Maybe it's because Emma is typically more reserved?

She's about to respond when she notices a name she hadn't intended in the group's contact box. Her stomach plummets at the sight of her brother's name. _Shit. She chose the wrong chat._

**Emma:** _fuck fuck fuck_. _  
_

_mm are you with david??_

_fuck. stop him from seeing those!!_

_please_

**Mary Margaret:** _Breathe, Emma. He's in the shower. I deleted the whole exchange before he saw it._

She lets out a deep breath and leans back in her seat. Thank god. But before she's collected herself enough to start the car and drive off, her phone beeps with another notification.

**Killian:** _What about me, love? Was someone supposed to stop me from seeing those photos? Or was I one of your intended recipients? ;)_

She pulls up his phone number to call him and to correct him that no they were not intended for him and to threaten bodily harm if he ever breathes a word of this to her brother. "As you wish, Swan." he concedes smarmily.

**Mary Margaret:** _I deleted that message as well._

—

"Soo, Swan," he drawls, lips wrapping around the letters of her name like a caress. If the way he cocks his head to the side and obscenely runs his tongue over his bottom lip didn't tip her off that salacious things are to follow, his fingers fiddling with his bottle, practically indecent, would be evidence enough.

It's been two days since the text message fiasco and they have just settled onto her couch, pizza and beer spread out in front of them, for their weekly Sunday movie night.

"Yes, Jones?"

"Have you put those naughty little lace bits to use yet?" he inquires running his eyes over her seated form as if he's suddenly developed Clark Kent level abilities of x-ray vision.

She tilts her head back on a deep breath. "Are you asking me if I've fucked anyone recently?" she challenges staring at the ceiling.

"Your words love, not mine." Her head is still facing upwards but she can feel the smirk on his lips. "You could have simply worn them under your daily clothes. It's to my understanding, that is something that gives women a little confidence boost, adds a little excitement to their day." He pauses and she hopes maybe he's finished but when she looks at him, his eyes have gone a little hazy. "Are you wearing them right now?"

She smacks him in the arm, hard.

"Are you?" he exclaims, eyes now wide and eyebrows in his hairline.

"No, you idiot," she huffs, smacking him again but gentler.

"It's just a question. No need to get violent," he complains and she's tempted to give him one last slap for good measure. Instead, she asks "Why are you so concerned with my underwear?"

He opens his mouth and she slaps her hand over it. "Choose your words carefully, Killian," she growls.

When she pulls back her hand, he licks his lips, less lecherous than before and more of a simple moistening of his lips but still entirely to lascivious for her liking.

"I just want to know if you've gotten to enjoy those lovely garments. They seemed to be working very well for you in those photos and I'd hate for them to sit forever at the bottom of your messy drawer, going to waste," he elaborates as if she's the silly one for not understanding his particular fascination with her new lingerie set.

Which she kind of is. This is Killian Jones she's speaking to, the king of all things sexual in nature and it doesn't get much more sexual than a picture of her in skimpy underwear. She should have known he wouldn't have let this go easily. To be a little lewd herself, he's like a dog with a bone when it comes to humiliating situations.

"But Ruby has purposefully sent naughty pictures to the group before and you never gave it much more than one of your simple flirtatious one-liners." He looks as if he's about to argue so she hurries to continue. "No, look, I know what happened. This was different because it was an accident. Am I supposed to feel humiliated? Is that what this is? You trying to embarrass me? Because I'm not. Embarrassed that is. Yes, if it were you that had accidentally sent a dick pic in the group chat, I wouldn't have been so kind myself. But it really wasn't that indecent and I refuse to let you demean me for it."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, love." She actually sees red. "Ok very poor choice of words. I just want to say I'm not trying to be malicious," he placates, running the back of his ringed fingers up and down her bare arm. "I'm just having a little fun. Like you said, if it were me you would be doing the same thing. If it were anyone else, you would give them a little hell. Maybe in different ways but still tease them none the less. That's how we are, you and I especially. If it's honestly bothering you, I'll let it go and we won't speak of it again."

"I guess it's not too bad," she concedes settling back on the couch and pulling a blanket—a fuzzy thing with the image of a large ship on it—over her. "But it's my night to pick the movie so you can sit back and shut up or if you're still preoccupied with thoughts of women's underwear, you can go home and watch some damn porn."

"Only your underwear love," he quips but then relaxes back himself and mimes a zipping motion over his mouth.

She puts her feet in his lap. "If you're really feeling apologetic, you'll give me a foot massage."

He makes no comment but immediately gets to work. She might have no knowledge on the levels of accuracy of his claims to being godlike in the bedroom but one thing is for sure. The man is wonderful with his hands.

—

True to his word, Killian doesn't bring up the photos again. It's been two weeks of nothing but a little bit of flirtatious teasing from Ruby (which, for some reason that Emma does not want to dwell on, doesn't bother her quite like Killian's did. Possibly because she knows Ruby has here sights set on Belle and therefore it feels harmless.) and a couple of inquiries from David. "You really don't want to know, sweetie," Mary Margaret would tell him.

Her and Killian have two more movie nights, both blissfully devoid of any talk of her underwear. one with his ridiculous cookies—"Biscuits, Swan."—Hobnob's and one with her popcorn and melty Milk Duds.

("I worry for your teeth, love. Truly. How much money do you spend at the dentist?" He complained as he pulled a chocolate covered finger out of the bowl.

"If you don't shut up and lick that finger clean, I will. Don't think I'm letting that melted chocolatey goodness go to waste because you're a prissy little Brit."

"Don't tempt me, love," he responded and then put his finger in his mouth, obviously running his tongue over it and then pulling it out slowly.)

He doesn't bring it up when he visits her for lunch at work either. Which is lucky for him because if he'd mentioned anything about her lingerie in front of her boss, Regina, she'd have flipped him on his ass so fast she'd have knocked the British right out of him.

She thinks the incident may be finally put behind them.

Emma, Killian, and the rest of their friends are out at their favorite bar, The Rabbit Hole. The group hasn't been able to get out as often as they'd like lately. With Mary Margaret and David settling into married life, Killian starting his job at a new firm, Elsa preparing for her sister’s wedding, and Ruby, with her Granny getting older, taking on more responsibility at the diner, it's been nearly impossible to get everyone in the same place, at the same time.

They're out tonight, though. She's danced with the group for a couple of songs, Elsa once, Killian twice, and Ruby four times. Normally, she limits herself to about five dances total but she's been really keyed up lately and dancing is a wonderful outlet.

She's sitting at the bar nursing a beer, trying to lower her heart rate, and watching her brother and his wife dance, when she feels someone come up behind her, tucking their arm around her waist.

She gets ready to tell the person off but relaxes at the familiar Killian scent and feel of scruff as he tucks his chin into the space where her neck and shoulder meets.

"Cute, aren't they?" she sighs. He simply nods, the coarse hair along his jaw tickling her shoulder. "It's ridiculous how perfect they are."

They sit in silence for a moment watching the stupidly happy couple.

Suddenly he removes his chin from her shoulder to immediately replace it with his mouth, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin. Her shirt has slid to the side slightly—likely due to the motion of his weird nodding/nuzzling—exposing her bra strap and he's taken it between his teeth.

She's lightly buzzed, her head fuzzy and her body pleasantly warm. And it's an oddly enjoyable sensation, the gentle slide of his lips against her skin as he lightly grinds the strap between his incisors. She leans back slightly and tilts her head to the side to offer him more room, feeling heady at the contrast of his soft mouth and rough stubble.

But then he gets bolder with his movements, digging in a little harder, his slick teeth slipping along her skin and it's like a bucket of ice has splashed over her. They're in public, with their friends, and he has his mouth on her shoulder.

She rips herself away and the snap of her bra against her skins further pulls her from her haze. He is decidedly drunker than her. His eyes are glossed over and he's got a slight dopey grin on his lips.

"Killian," she says his name firmly.

"Swan," he acknowledges with a hoarse voice and thankfully that's all he says because his accent gets thicker when he drinks and she really doesn't need that right now.

"Look around the room," she demands. His eyes wander about briefly and return to her face. "What do you see?"

He shrugs.

"Do you want to know what I see?"

She's answered with another shrug.

"I see women, a lot of them your type. Go flirt with one of them and let me drink my beer in peace."

His eyes roam over her face and he must find something convincing enough in her expression because he nods and heads in the direction of a leggy brunette on the dance floor.

She's contemplates sticking around, heading to the booth that Elsa and Anna are chatting in, but the sight of Killian, his trademark flirty grin in place, with his hand on the girl's shoulder causes her stomach to turn and she suddenly doesn't feel like being anywhere but home.

She finds her brother and tells him she's heading out. He doesn't ask questions, just gives her a kiss on the cheek and tells her to drive safe and text him when she gets home.

She drives to her apartment in a haze and texts him the minute she walks through the door.

**Emma:** _home sweet home, no danger in sight_

**David:** _Alright, get some rest. Sleep well._

She kicks off her shoes and stomps to her bathroom. In the mirror, she sees a fright, tangled hair, smeared eyeliner, and only a cracked outline of what used to be her lipstick. She strips down to her underwear, does a quick face wash, aggressively brushes her teeth, and then throws on a t-shirt and climbs into bed.

She tries to fall asleep, hoping the alcohol will be enough to knock her out. It is eventually but not before her mind runs through a hundred different thoughts. _Why did he do that? Did I do something to encourage it? Why did I let him? Why did I like it so much?_ And the one that really haunts her, _Why did I feel so shitty seeing him with that girl?_

—

The next day, Mary Margaret's monthly girl’s brunch, finds Emma and her friends sitting around a table, various forms of food on plates but all with a mimosa on the side.

Emma smirks as Ruby rolls her head forward, groaning. Cleary, her bubbly orange alcohol serves more as the hair of the dog than a simple morning drink.

"So, Emma," Mary Margaret says, snapping the grin of Emma's face. "What made you leave so fast last night?"

She shifts down uncomfortably in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't know. I had a headache and didn't feel like being out."

"Mmmm." 

"Are you feeling better this morning?" Elsa asks, seemingly oblivious to her lie.

"Yeah, I..." Everyone senses something in the way her words trail off, even Ruby's pounding head snaps to attention.

"Did something happen?" Ruby demands, leaning forward, arms on the table.

"If Granny were here, she'd scold you right now." Emma tries to distract her.

"Nuh-uh," Ruby says shaking her head. "You're not changing the subject."

"Well," she sighs and tries to collect her thoughts into words that won't cause Ruby to knock anything off the table. "Killian did something kind of weird last night."

"Weird how?" Belle inquires.

"Yeah, you're gonna have to be a little more descriptive here," Elsa says evenly. "Like regular weird or weird for Killian?"

"Uhmm. I'd say this is weird, even for Killian. Well, see actually, I don't know. He's always flirty so maybe not too weird. But he's never crossed the line into something so overtly... sexual with me before but maybe it wasn't that sexual. He was pretty drunk. I don't know—" Ruby cuts her off with a hand over her mouth.

"What did he do?" she asks sharply and her red lip pulls up into a slight snarl.

"Hebitmybra," she rushes out, partly to stop Ruby from thinking he did anything that would require her to rips off his junk and partly to get it over with.

"He what?" Mary Margaret gasps.

"He came up behind me while I was sitting at the bar and put his chin on my shoulder and we watched you and David dance for a little bit, or at least I was watching you guys. And next thing I knew he had his mouth to my shoulder and he was chewing on my bra!"

She looks around the table and everyone is wearing matching faces of shock.

"Well, what did you do?" Mary Margaret, the most level-headed of the group, finally asks.

"I may have let him do it for a few seconds?" She shrugs and grins weakly. "I had a little bit to drink myself and at first I didn't really think of who it was, it just felt nice. But then he got a little more... aggressive and I kind of snapped out of it and told him to go bother someone else. So he did and he left with some girl in a short skirt."

"No, he didn't," Mary Margaret corrects her.

"Fine, he found someone in tight pants. I don't know. He was talking to some brunette when I left."

"Actually, he left with a guy and a girl."

"Oh," she breathes out. That's a little out of the ordinary for him but the man is adventurous.

"Me and David. He came up to us a little after you left, looking too drunk to do anything but sit in David's truck and have us drive him home."

"Oh," she says again, uselessly.

"Look, I don't know what exactly prompted his actions although I'm sure the... pictures from a couple weeks ago might have something to do with it," Belle says softly. "But what I do know is the reasoning behind what he did. Something that you haven't been ready to hear for a long time now but I think you might finally be ready."

Emma shakes her head slightly not knowing what's to follow but sure that she doesn't want to hear. Belle is probably the closest person to Killian after herself and David. If there's anything he's not letting on with her, it's probably knowledge Belle has.

"No, listen to me," Belle demands firmly. "That man is in love with you. I know it, he knows it, everyone at this table knows it. The only person that doesn't know it is you. And possibly David but that's undecided. It's not just some crush. We all know Killian doesn't do crushes. He does no strings attached or deeply in love. There’s no halving things with him. And you Emma Swan, you are the person he has been in love with for years now. He might not have been aware of it from the very beginning but it's always been there."

Walking out is probably her best option. She doesn't feel like sitting at this table anymore and really, it's not like it would make things any worse.

"I'm not telling you this to frighten you," her friend soothes. "It's time you know. I shouldn't be telling you at all but this has gone on long enough. And I'm pretty sure you two would continue on in this weird, falsely platonic, overly affectionate friendship for the rest of your damn lives. Which could be nice. Friendship is nice. But wouldn't things be nicer for the two of you if there was more?"

_Would they?_

Thankfully everyone lets the topic drop and they continue their meal with more menial topics of conversation until Elsa gets a text from her sister about some sort of stationary emergency.

The days continue on like any other. Killian comes over twice. One night they watch movies and another to he cooks her dinner because she's been overly exhausted from chasing down her latest skip and when she'd let it slip that she hadn't been eating properly, he'd immediately set out to rectify that. They talk over the phones and text sporadically.

There is no mention of what happened at the bar.

She assumes he doesn't remember it and hopes they can continue on like nothings happened. If he's not going to bring it up, why should she?

Except she can't get what Belle said out of her head.

—

This might not be the brightest idea, but it's the first Emma came up with and she's not focusing on finding one any longer, lest she lose her courage to do something.

It will work out in one of a few different ways. Either he'll run out of her apartment and never speak to her again (highly unlikely but very horrifying,) he'll run out of her apartment and take a week to speak to her again (more likely,) he'll ask her what she's doing and she'll put some clothes on and they'll awkwardly watch a movie (also likely,) or they'll end up fucking (hopefully.)

It's Sunday, Killian's turn to pick a movie, and she's standing at her bathroom counter, curling her hair. Because Killian likes it extra curly. She's wearing her new bustier set, stockings, and nothing else.

She debated putting on lipstick, but if things go positively, it could cause a distracting mess. And if things go negatively, the thought of having to wipe that lipstick off and crawl into bed alone makes her want to call the whole thing off.

Deciding on a position is almost harder than coming up with the idea if the first place. Should she answer the door, stand there with a hand on her cocked hip? Recline seductively on her bed and wait for him to find her?

She decides to sit in her armchair, legs crossed and hands resting on the arms. It's not in the direct line of sight when walking through her door but it won't take long to be spotted.

She sits there for what feels like hours but is probably only a couple minutes. If Killian Jones is one thing besides sarcastic and salacious, he's prompt.

When she hears the knock on the door—Honestly, the man has had a key to her apartment for over a year now and still knocks every time he uses it.—she's tempted to bolt into her bedroom, lock the door and not come out until she's appropriately covered. But she remains and tries to keep her breathing as steady as possible.

"Liam's just sent this wine. He says we've got to try it," he beings as he walks into her apartment, setting down his keys, cookies and what looks to be a tray of cheese on top of her kitchen counter. "I stopped at the deli along the way and got some—"

He drops the wine.

He drops the wine and he stands next to her couch, mouth gaping. He stands there and he stares, and he continues to stare and he doesn't bother to pick up the wine, which thankfully hadn't broken but maybe if it had it would have knocked enough sense into him to pick it up. But the wine didn't break, so he stands and he stares.

After what feels like eons, he closes his mouth, only to open and close it a couple more times and finally croak out "What are you doing, Swan?"

"I'm putting these naughty little lace bits to use," she answers lowly with a hint of a smirk.

He walks slowly and drops to his knees before her. For a moment he just sits there, staring up at her, reading her. She stares back. She feels one of his hands come to rest of her ankle, his thumb tickling the delicate skin beneath the bone.

He pulls back suddenly, sliding his palms along his jeans.

With one hand he pulls her crossed leg off the other and then uses both hands, fingers tucking behind her calves just under her knees, to deliberately split them apart, stopping when he's created a V large enough to fit his torso between.

Her head falls back against the chair with a thump as he runs his fingers with a feather light touch up the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of her center. He pulls his hand back towards him only to immediately run it, along with his other on her other thigh, back up. With each pass, the pressure of his fingers deepens until he stops just at the top of her stalkings and begins to knead his thumbs into her skin, the feeling shooting straight up to her pelvis and causing her toes twitch. 

Delicately, he unlatches one of the stockings from its garter, drags the material agonizingly slow, down her thigh, over her knee, down her calf, until it slips off her foot. He gives said foot a light massage then lifts it up towards his face and presses a kiss to the pad of her toe. He repeats the same torturous set of movements along the other leg.

Her breaths are shaky by the time he's finished, her feet back on either side of him.

He sits back and considers her for a moment before grabbing her hips and dragging her until her ass is resting just near the edge of the seat. She's about to say something, ask him where this is going when he leans forward and places his face into the crotch of her panties.

She gasps and involuntarily jerks her knee at the feel of his nose, nuzzling into her. He sits there and she can feel the movements of his breath, hot and heavy, and she feels on the verge of combustion. She digs her nails into the fabric of the chair. _Can someone explode from this?_

Just as she feels a scream crawling up her throat, he presses a gentle kiss right at her center then stands. His mouth slams onto hers. He licks along the seam of her lips, wasting no time slipping his tongue in her mouth. One of his hands lands over hers on the chair and the other tangles straight into her hair, cupping the back of her skull. His lips are soft and slick and they feel so similar, but also so different than what they felt like against her shoulder.

She's overwhelmed by the sensations, lips, tongue, hands, the smell and feel of him in new ways. It's almost too much to take in at once and her mind is being pulled in a million different directions, chasing one pleasurable feeling after another.

Feeling the need to do _something_ , she moves the hand not held under Killian's and puts it into his hair. God damn, it's so soft. Her nails scratch lightly along his scalp and he groans.

His hand shifts, his thumb brushing up against the back of her ear and he begins to run it over her earlobe. But rubbing isn't enough for him and she gasps for air as he moves his mouth to it, lips latching on and tongue running back and forth.

After that, his mouth won't settle in one place. He starts sucking down her neck, alternating between light and welt-inducing pressure. He scrapes his teeth at the meeting point of her neck and shoulder and she feels like she'll melt into the chair. When his lips meet the strap of her bustier, his teeth attach just like they did at the bar, except this time she doesn't pull away, and he's the one to snap the strap against her skin. Which causes her to gasp loudly and sends a wave of heat through her core, so strong it's almost unbearable.

"Killian," she sighs and he growls at the sound of his name, the first word spoken since he laid eyes on her in this outfit. "Bedroom."

He snaps her legs together and scoops her up, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, carrying her bridal style into her room. When he reaches the bed, he tosses her unceremoniously onto it.

She plants her feet and the edge of the mattress and props herself up on her elbows, grinning cheekily up at him.

"As ravishing as you may look in this, love. And truly you're a sight to behold," he murmurs, running his hands up and down her bare calves, eyes roaming over her. "I think this experience will be more pleasurable for the both of us if we get you out of it."

"You first buddy. I'm not the one still wearing a leather jacket here," she counters but after he begins tugging off his clothes she moves her hand to the zipper along her side and drags it down.

Once he's got not a stitch on—his high-intensity training abs and God-given length on full display—and she's divested herself of her top and thong, he scrambles up beside her. She crawls onto him and settles herself into his lap, hands resting on his shoulders. He drops his face forward, forehead landing between her breasts, and rests there, breathing deeply.

After a few moments she tries to drag him back by his hair but he struggles against her.

"Give a man a moment, Swan," he grumbles, nestling his head against her chest.

"Killian," she wines and begins to rock her hips slowly.

"My God, woman."

But it prompts movement, his face turning to the side and his mouth latching onto one of her breasts with a light kiss. His hands go to her hips, dragging her back and forth, sliding over his length. She raises her arms and clutches at the back of his head and shoulders, holding him into place, encouraging him to deepen the pressure. And he does. His kiss turns hard, sucking at her with a sharp, wonderful pain only lessening, at the sound of her cry, to flick his tongue up and down.

He pulls his head back to move to the other and she knows she won’t be able to take it, her wetness getting out of hand, surprising her that he hasn't just slipped inside her yet. He's making these utterly delighted sounds that she's not sure she'll ever get out of her head.

So she reaches down to grab him and begins to guide him inside but he startles her by flipping her over.

"Condom?"

She shakes her head. "I’ve got that thing in my arm so I'm good if you are."

He pushes himself in, his face the oddest contradiction, a picture of pure joy and anguish as he buries himself in her, nearly bottoming out. He blinks slowly at her, eyes filled with silent wonderment. She's mesmerized by the sight.

"Fuck."

She feels overwhelmed. It's not painful but he's fairly large and it has been a while, so she's feeling more pressure than usual.

"You could say that again," he sighs scraping his teeth along her neck.

"Fuck."

She cups the back of his neck and pulls him down for a soft kiss.

"Move," she mumbled against his lips.

He begins pushing in and out, slowly and first. But once she gets used to the feeling, she starts meeting him thrust for thrust and he begins to take her harder, faster. His kiss roughens, turning into little more than a clashing of lips and tongue and teeth.

It doesn't take long for the steady back and forth to push her higher and higher, already so worked up. Once he moves his fingers down, pressing into tiny circles over her clit, she's nearly at the edge. Her eyes clench shut as she tries to puts all her focus into the feeling flowing through her.

"Emma, love," he grunts. "Open your eyes."

She shakes her head.

"Please."

The sound of his voice, so utterly wrecked, begging her is incentive enough, so she opens them. She's met with his stupidly blue gaze. He smiles down at her and it's almost too much, the pleasure mounting and it sends her tumbling over the edge, gasping and sobbing his name, a flash of heat overtaking her body.

She lays there, practically lifeless, having lost all semblance of space and time but gently comes to when she hears him gasp her name as he come's himself. His sweaty forehead falls into her collarbone first, followed by the rest of his body over hers, and they lay there panting, utterly blissed out.

"I'm gonna need at least three business days to recover from that," she sighs happily into his messy hair, sloppily patting the back of his head.

"Glad I could be of service."

He rolls off of her but tugs her along with him, switching their positions so that she's the one with her face tucked into his neck, legs sprawled over his.

"Mmm."

"Seriously. Anytime you want me like that, I'll be happy to help."

After a few minutes of drowsy cuddling, he speaks again. "What prompted this?"

"I guess you could say it started with the pictures but do you honestly not remember that night at the bar?" she asks tracing her fingers up and down his chest, tangling through his hair.

"Night at the b— Oh,"

"All coming back to you now?"

"Honestly, I've had no recollection until you brought it up just now," he insists. "I think I've blocked it out."

"Yeah, well I went out to brunch the next day and I guess I was kind of out of sorts and you know how well Mary Margaret handles lies. They kind of dragged what happened out of me and then said some things that really got me thinking and then I had to figure out what I wanted to do and here we are. Naked and sweaty."

He laughs uproariously, pulling her tighter against him.

"Hey!" She smacks his arm.

"I'm sorry, love, truly. But you go out to eat with the girls and they tell you I'm in love with you, which sends your mind spiraling, so of course, your first plan of action is to seduce me with lingerie."

"I didn't say they said anything about you being in love with me," she grumbles against his shoulder.

"It doesn't take a genius to read between the lines of that one... It's true, you know that right? I love you."  
  
"Well, I wasn't entirely sure until now," she confesses and then softly says "I love you, too."

He pulls her face up to his for a long, lingering kiss.

"Gods, I love you," he says into her mouth and then trails a few smaller kisses along her jaw.

"If you want to hear something that will make you love me even more, I also bought a little something else when I was at Victoria's Secret," she says smirking up at him. His eyebrows quirk up and she shakes her head. "But it'll have to be for another time."

"Can't wait, love."

She decides that Belle was right. Friendship is nice but more is nicer, specifically, friendship and lingerie is nicer.


End file.
